Aerith's heart swells with a soft ache at his words. She can understand them. Why he has them. Where they come from. How important it is that he feels safe enough to voice concerns like that. He must think himself a monster. She doesn't.
Ifrit is... Perhaps what any eikon might be. Bestial in some form. Surely finding the delineation between man and eikon is a difficult one. She can look at it all objectively and in that scrutiny, they may be parts of one another, or at the very least, Ifrit is a part of Clive, but that doesn't necessarily mean they are one and the same.
He will probably never view it that way. No dominant may.
Eyeing him with a gentle sympathy, an understanding empathy, Aerith lifts a hand and she gently guides dark hair from his face. Wordless, with the pad of her thumb she traces his features. Prominent brow line. The height of his cheek, just along the outer corner of his eye. The scarring that touches his cheek.
Finally, she nods.]
You're safe with me. I'll keep you safe.
[When he needs it. When he wants it. Even if the world should turn against him, she'll do everything she can to stay near him. To be a constant. Even in the face of her own fears.]
[ Safety, saving, protection. They speak in soft terms, idyllic and almost conspiratorial－ as if the things they whisper here are in danger of shattering if spoken too loud or in witness of less gentle, discerning eyes.
And it's nice, that he believes Aerith when she says that she can do these things for him. That she can hold him (a funny mental image, his bulk and charcoal edges tempered by her floral pastels, her thin arms) and give him the space and time to settle into this trust they've built. Not just through necessity, but through a slow dance of understanding.
He likes it, he thinks. Unworthy as he is.
So he nods, twists, and falls. Relents in every way, physical and emotional, the smile on his face as open and vulnerable as the creak of the mattress under them. He still has Aerith held close to his chest, but now they're horizontal on his bedsheets, two disparate but similar souls tangled together. ]
Watch over me, then. [ He laughs; it floats, warm and buoyant. ] Let's rest for a while.
[ Contradicting himself. She can't watch and nap at the same time. But Clive lets her figure out how she wants to manage that, as he nests closer with his arms around Aerith's shoulders, blue eyes shuttering with the smile lingering on relaxed lips.
He hasn't felt so pliant in ages. He drifts like that, and dreams only of flowers and emerald water, of Aerith's palm on his cheek. ]
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flamebrand) wrote2023-10-31 01:24 am
no subject
What he did.
Aerith's heart swells with a soft ache at his words. She can understand them. Why he has them. Where they come from. How important it is that he feels safe enough to voice concerns like that. He must think himself a monster. She doesn't.
Ifrit is...
Perhaps what any eikon might be. Bestial in some form. Surely finding the delineation between man and eikon is a difficult one. She can look at it all objectively and in that scrutiny, they may be parts of one another, or at the very least, Ifrit is a part of Clive, but that doesn't necessarily mean they are one and the same.
He will probably never view it that way. No dominant may.
Eyeing him with a gentle sympathy, an understanding empathy, Aerith lifts a hand and she gently guides dark hair from his face. Wordless, with the pad of her thumb she traces his features. Prominent brow line. The height of his cheek, just along the outer corner of his eye. The scarring that touches his cheek.
Finally, she nods.]
You're safe with me. I'll keep you safe.
[When he needs it. When he wants it. Even if the world should turn against him, she'll do everything she can to stay near him. To be a constant. Even in the face of her own fears.]
🎀💕!
And it's nice, that he believes Aerith when she says that she can do these things for him. That she can hold him (a funny mental image, his bulk and charcoal edges tempered by her floral pastels, her thin arms) and give him the space and time to settle into this trust they've built. Not just through necessity, but through a slow dance of understanding.
He likes it, he thinks. Unworthy as he is.
So he nods, twists, and falls. Relents in every way, physical and emotional, the smile on his face as open and vulnerable as the creak of the mattress under them. He still has Aerith held close to his chest, but now they're horizontal on his bedsheets, two disparate but similar souls tangled together. ]
Watch over me, then. [ He laughs; it floats, warm and buoyant. ] Let's rest for a while.
[ Contradicting himself. She can't watch and nap at the same time. But Clive lets her figure out how she wants to manage that, as he nests closer with his arms around Aerith's shoulders, blue eyes shuttering with the smile lingering on relaxed lips.
He hasn't felt so pliant in ages. He drifts like that, and dreams only of flowers and emerald water, of Aerith's palm on his cheek. ]